"And tell Itogo when he goes to arrest Tokiwa that he's not to ill-use her or her children."
"I'll tell him that."
"For the time being, he will have charge of the prisoners. He'll hear from me later on when I've had time to think things over."
Tokitada left at once with the orders for Itogo, who started off at dawn with a handful of soldiers for the house on Sixth Avenue. Arrived there, Itogo found the house empty; from householders in the neighborhood, he soon learned that Tokiwa had gone the previous evening to the palace on Ninth Avenue. Lest the appearance of armed men provoke disorder, Itogo quickly made himself known to the palace steward, explaining that he had been sent from Rokuhara to arrest Tokiwa. The steward in his turn assured Itogo that no attempt had been made to shelter a fugitive. Tokiwa, he said, was even now preparing to leave for Rokuhara to give herself up.
While Itogo and his men waited in the guard-house of an inner gate, Tokiwa made ready for her departure. This past night, spent in safety among friends who cared for her, had so comforted her that she found the last leave-taking had lost much of its bitterness. Rising early, she bathed and carefully arranged her hair. Opening her dressing-case, she seated herself before a mirror and was surprised by the serenity of the image that looked back at her from its depth. The powder clung smoothly to her skin and she bloomed under the final touches of her toilette.
Tokiwa's eldest son peered at his mother's reflection to ask: "Where are you going, Mother?" and danced with joy when told.
"Somewhere nice—and you are to come with me."
Adorned in the robes that Lady Shimeko and her gentlewomen had given her, Tokiwa reappeared before her mistress and, bowing low, said:
"Though I expect never to return, I cannot forget how good you were to me through the years—nor your kindness to me last night."
Lady Shimeko's voice dropped to a whisper as she leaned toward Tokiwa: "It is best to be resigned to your fate, but do not lose hope entirely. I shall ask my father to speak to Lord Kiyomori."
While the gentlewomen, shedding tears, waited on Imawaka and Otowaka at their morning meal, Tokiwa nursed her youngest for the last time.
Meanwhile, Itogo and his soldiers were growing impatient, and could be heard demanding that Tokiwa start at once. Lady Shimeko quickly sent a message by her steward, asking that Tokiwa be allowed to take her carriage. To this Itogo replied: "It's not customary to let prisoners ride, but because of the children, I see no harm in it."
Shortly after, a lady's carriage, guarded by foot-soldiers, rolled through a rear gate, along the capital's main avenues and down the side-streets.
CHAPTER XXVIII
THE MOTHER
Kiyomori slept poorly that night. There seemed to be no reason for it; if pressed for a reason he would have replied that he was feeling the unaccustomed strain of his official duties—the numerous councils of state, the multitude of court functions. Yet for all his rough and ready ways and his outward contempt for formalities and ritual, Kiyomori was vulnerable. He felt no need for Ariko's or his son's advice for dealing with Tokiwa and her children, for the news of their capture had disturbed him more than he cared to admit.
"Have you seen them, Tokitada?" Kiyomori inquired toward noon of the following day.
"Yes, I have seen them. Everything has been carried out as you ordered. Itogo now has them in custody and under strict guard."
"Do they seem comfortable?"
"The baby cries from time to time and Tokiwa herself looks worn."
"She whose beauty was once the talk and envy of the court ladies and the common people."
"Only twenty-three and the mother of three. It is hard to believe that all those weeks of flight and starvation have not marred her looks. There is a pathos in her beauty now."
"Hmm?"
"About the trial—do you wish me or Itogo to question her and submit the necessary evidence?"
"No," Kiyomori replied at once with a shake of the head. "Let me cross-examine her myself. She is Yoshitomo's widow and has his three sons with her. This is a matter that I alone should deal with."
Tokitada had heard something of the repercussions from Ariko's appeal in behalf of Yoritomo and concluded that Kiyomori was anxious to settle the matter of Tokiwa's fate before his stepmother took it upon herself to interfere.
"When do you wish to see the prisoner?"
"The sooner the better—before evening."
A visitor was announced just as Tokitada left. It was a courtier, Fujiwara Koremichi, come on behalf of his daughter Lady Shimeko. Kiyomori received him cordially.
"Naturally I would not suspect Lady Shimeko. I'm surprised that you of all people should come to me about this. A pity indeed that there are not more like you at Court to advise us in times like this."
Kiyomori had a secret liking for Koremichi and sensed that the feeling was mutual. By the time his caller was ready to depart, Kiyomori had exchanged far more cups of wine with his guest than was his habit, and while he was still in a genial mood, Tokitada once more appeared to say that the prisoner was ready.
Kiyomori strode down a gallery leading toward the west wing. The mansion was undergoing some extensive repairs and additions, and he picked his way carefully toward a room of an inner court where the garden was being enlarged.
"Where did you say they were?"
"Over there."
"Below—there?"
Kiyomori stepped toward a balustrade and looked down. Tokiwa knelt on a straw mat, head bowed; on either side of her sat a child, tightly clutching her sleeves.
"Itogo, give the woman and the children kneeling-cushions," Kiyomori ordered as he seated himself in the center of the audience room. Itogo looked puzzled and ill at ease. It was not customary to treat prisoners like this.
"Here, bring them up here," Kiyomori said, jerking his head in the direction of the gallery on which the room opened.
Itogo was not the only one who appeared surprised; there was no mistake, however, that Kiyomori meant the gallery.
"Here, my lord?"
Kiyomori nodded as Itogo placed three cushions at the top of the stairs leading up from the courtyard. Tokitada motioned Tokiwa to approach. She looked up trembling and drew her frightened children close. Itogo then spoke to her:
"Go up as you've been ordered to. Take your seats there."
Tokiwa rose, clasping her infant in one arm, and holding Otowaka's small hand, she came forward and slowly ascended the stairs with Imawaka clinging to her robes.
As Tokiwa approached, Kiyomori felt his nerves tingle—expectant. So this was the incomparable beauty whose name had once been on every tongue!
"Are you unhappy, Tokiwa?"
"No, I have no more tears to shed. I implore you to have pity on my mother. Let her go free, I beg you, my lord."
"Hmm—that shall be done," Kiyomori said at once, and then continued: "Where have you been hiding until now? What made you flee with your children?"
"I was in Yamato. As for my children, I can only say that I am no different from other mothers who instinctively cling to their children."
"What brought you back to the capital?"
"Reports of my mother."
"Your uncle came here, you know."
"I did not know that my uncle was here before me. I came here intending to deliver myself up to you."
"As I thought. You are mad to come back as you've done."
Kiyomori fell silent and stared at the young mother and her children; then he suddenly asked: "Are you able to nurse him?"
Tokiwa gazed down at the infant in her arms, but made no reply beyond an almost imperceptible shake of the head.
"Not too well. No, I should think not," Kiyomori said to himself with an abstracted look. "Mothers are such foolish creatures. They pretend there is food where there is none; what little there is they give to their husbands and children while their babies wail for the breast. . . . And you who have fled over hills and plains —it's a miracle that the baby lives at all."
&
nbsp; "Tokiwa, you have nothing to fear. The war was between Yoshitomo and me. You are innocent."
"Yes."
"A pity, too, that a man like Yoshitomo should have become discontented and been led astray by those young courtiers to his own undoing. He misjudged me, too."
Tokiwa broke down and wept uncontrollably.
"My lord—my lord—" she began.
Kiyomori's eyes strayed over the face lifted to him and came to rest on the thick lashes, heavy with tears, and his heart was suddenly shot through with pity.
"Tokiwa, you need not weep so. You had nothing to do with this war. Your mother shall be set free, since you have given yourself up to us. Wipe away those tears, Tokiwa, you too shall go free."
Tokiwa suddenly cried out: "No—no, I am not asking you to spare me. But have mercy upon these, my children!"
"What?"
"Spare these children, my lord; let me die in their stead!"
At this, Kiyomori's face suddenly grew hard with anger and he roared:
"Woman, take care what you say! You have that evil habit of all women—of wanting to play on my sympathies. You may not be a Genji, but there's no doubt about those children of yours, in whom the blood of the Genji runs. Them I will not and cannot spare!"
Kiyomori, who had risen to his feet in anger, seated himself once more, but his eyes shifted furtively over the prostrate figure before him.
"So you, too, like Yoshitomo of the Genji, misjudge me. The word 'mercy' is hateful to me. I am utterly merciless. Itogo! Tokitada!"
Itogo and Tokitada came forward.
"Take away this woman and her children. The trial is over."
Without waiting for his attendants, Kiyomori hurriedly left the room and vanished into one of the inner apartments.
Less than a fortnight later Kiyomori relented as he invariably did with his near kin or the weak. Overcome by his stepmother's pleadings, he ordered Yoritomo's death sentence suspended. A messenger was sent to Shigemori, to whom Kiyomori said:
"Shigemori, I've given this matter some thought."
"And what have you decided, Father?"
"After all that your grandmother has said, Shigemori, I've decided to spare Yoritomo."
"Then?"
"He's to be banished. To the most distant spot possible."
"My grandmother will be overjoyed to hear this, and people will praise you for being a dutiful son."
"Nothing of the kind. I make no claim to being filial, but I am a father myself and hesitate to put another man's son to death."
"Yes, Shinzei is one example of a man who ruthlessly killed off his enemies, saw his own sons put to the sword in turn, and then was killed himself."
"Enough of your sermons. I don't pretend to be noble. It's only human to feel as I do about a mere child like Yoritomo. It would be unwise too at this time to have him executed, to earn the hatred of people at large. You go and tell your grandmother what I have decided about Yoritomo."
When the 13th of February drew near, no official orders regarding Yoritomo were issued. Kiyomori preserved a noncommittal silence, and the date went by unnoticed. It was not until a month or so later that a decree was published ordering Yoritomo banished to Izu, in eastern Japan; he was to depart on the 20th of March.
As for Tokiwa and her children, the Capital was astounded several days later by the news that Kiyomori had pardoned them. There were some who even sought out Kiyomori and questioned the wisdom of his doing so, and to such he only replied that he was carrying out the orders of a higher authority. Then it soon began to be said that Kiyomori's assurances were little more than transparent excuses, for gossip reported that Kiyomori's carriage waited night after night outside the house where Tokiwa was still kept a prisoner.
CHAPTER XXIX
EXILE
The blossoms were still wrapped in darkness when a company of soldiers and a few officials began assembling on the avenue of cherry trees along the walls of Ariko's residence. In the courtyard, too, the flowering boughs rose overhead like a blur of clouds. The entire household seemed to be up already, for lights glimmered between the curtain of blossoms as unseen figures hurried back and forth along the open galleries. "Did you sleep well last night?"
It was the morning of the 20th of March, the day on which Yoritomo was to set out for his prison-house in Izu.
Munekiyo had risen early and come to help Yoritomo prepare for the journey.
"Yes, I did sleep, but I was so excited and happy that I woke very early this morning; and when I lifted the shutters myself, I found the moon still shining."
"That must have been around midnight. You will have to take care that you don't fall asleep in the saddle again."
"Oh no, Munekiyo, it won't matter if I do so this time."
"Why is that?"
"My guards will see to it that I'm not left behind."
Munekiyo laughed heartily at Yoritomo's high spirits; his rapture was like that of the caged bird set free, and his gaiety so contagious that Munekiyo could not but feel that this day with its festive blossoms was an occasion for joy. A servant soon arrived to conduct Yoritomo to his morning bath. Yoritomo was back soon, his face shining and his cheeks glowing like rosy fruit. He wore the new suit of clothing which Ariko had given him.
"Before starting I should like once more to thank Lady Ariko and say farewell.
"Yes, Lady Ariko, too, expects you. I'm to take you to her as soon as you finish your breakfast."
Yoritomo quickly sat down to his meal.
"Munekiyo, this is my last meal here, isn't it?"
"Yes, and I'm sorry that it is so."
"And I, too, Munekiyo," Yoritomo said, turning to his jailer, "I shan't forget how kind you have been."
Munekiyo made a clucking sound. "I did nothing—only my duty. You must not expect to meet with kindness everywhere. If there is anyone that you particularly wish to have accompany you, I shall ask for you."
"No, there is no one that I can think of. There may be, but he would be afraid to show himself here."
"True enough. Now if you are ready, we shall go to see Lady Ariko."
Yoritomo was led from the small room where he had been confined for a hundred days and taken to Ariko's residence, a small house, exquisitely and richly appointed in the manner of a small chapel. Yoritomo had only the evening before taken supper with her here and been presented with new clothes and all the small necessities for his journey. In addition to the satisfaction she derived from performing what her religion taught was an act of mercy, Ariko had drawn deep comfort from seeing the boy who reminded her so much of her dead son, and on parting had asked Yoritomo if there was some last thing she might give him. Yoritomo had shyly replied: "I should so like to have a dice-game—something to play with if I ever feel lonely when I am in Izu."
Ariko unfortunately did not have one to give him just then, but she had one ready for him by the following morning, and eagerly waited for Yoritomo to appear.
"Madam, I have come to say good-by," said Yoritomo, bowing low to Ariko, whose eyes were brimming. "And when I am in faraway Izu, I shall never forget that it was you who saved my life. I pray morning and night for your happiness, madam."
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